With the chicken sizzling and the potatoes boiling, June-bug picked up the blue enamel coffeepot and carried it to the table where the men sat. Evangeline followed, having no real reason to stay behind. She’d spend much of the rest of her life watching food cook, she figured, and there was no point in using her time that way before the fact.

“You ought to stay the night, Scully,” June-bug said, refilling her guest’s cup and then her husband’s. “Ten miles is a long way to travel, especially in weather like this. ’Sides that, Mrs. Keating and the little girl done wore themselves out, comin’ all the way from Pennsylvania like they did.”

Scully cast an assessing glance at the window. “You’re right about the weather,” he agreed, evidently discounting the strain on Evangeline and Abigail, “but I hate to leave the stock alone that long. There’s been some stealin’ lately.”

Jacob arched one bristly black eyebrow. “Indians?”

Abigail leaned forward with even greater interest than before. “Real Indians?” she asked, in a breathless whisper, and with relish. “The kind that take scalps?”

“Abigail!” Evangeline scolded. Young as the child was, she knew a fair share of horror stories. No doubt she’d learned them from her much older half-brother, Mott, who’d probably hoped to scare both mother and daughter into staying on at the farm.

Scully, privy to none of these reflections, of course, merely nodded. “That happens now and again,” he confirmed. “Still,” he went on, speaking to Jacob, “I can’t help feeling sorry for the poor devils. Game’s sure to be harder to come by, with winter coming on so early this year, and they’ve got to fight the wolves and mountain lions for every jack-rabbit and possum. The deer don’t make much of a meal, either, all ribs and gristle the way they are.”

Despite her private fears of being scalped or captured by savages, Evangeline was struck by the compassion Mr. Wainwright showed for the Indians; on the train ride west, and on the string of stagecoaches after that, she’d heard other men say they ought to exterminate the red man once and for all and make the trails safe for decent folk.

“Time I get home, I’ll be lucky to have a single hen left,” he added.

Reminded of poultry, June-bug went back to the stove to keep an eye on the midday meal. Within half an hour, she’d made biscuits and gravy to accompany the other dishes, and the smells were delectable enough to set Evangeline’s stomach rumbling. On the trip, she had often gone without eating, lest she run out of money and have nothing to offer Abigail, and she was enjoying Mrs. McCaffrey’s cooking greatly.

Evangeline set places for the five of them, at the table nearest the fire, while Jacob and Mr. Wainwright retreated to the barn to make sure the sleigh was fit for travel. By the time the men returned and washed up on the chilly little porch off the kitchen, it was two in the afternoon, and the light was already fading. She was grateful for another night in the warm safety of the Springwater station and well aware the next day’s journey would be a trying one.